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User blog:Squibstress/Epithalamium - Chapter 48
Title: Epithalamium Author: Squibstress Rating: MA Genre: Drama, romance Warning/s: Explicit sexual situations; teacher-student relationship (of-age); language, violence Published: 23/05/2017 Disclaimer: All characters, settings and other elements from the Harry Potter franchise belong to J. K. Rowling. Chapter Forty-Eight "You're a man of science. Why don't you investigate?" Minerva's thirty-second birthday fell on a Friday, and Albus surprised her by showing up just after her last class of the day with instructions to Apparate directly back to the cottage. He would meet her there shortly, he said. When he walked in the door leading from the garden, he asked, "Do you have a Muggle evening dress?" "No," she answered. "Why?" "Then you'd best Transfigure something, my sweet." "Where are we going?" "My dear," he said, walking toward her and taking her by the shoulders, "will you ever learn to simply trust me?" "I trust you. It's just that it would help me know what to Transfigure if I knew what we were going to be doing." "Sitting, for the most part." She went to her bedroom and pulled a set of plain, royal-blue dress robes from her wardrobe. After putting them on, she looked in the cheval mirror for a few moments, at a loss. She barely paid any attention to wizarding fashion, much less Muggle dress trends. What to do? Relying on her hazy recollection of a Muggle gown she'd seen her grandmother in when she'd taken Minerva and Einar to the Muggle theatre, she started with the top of the dress. She tried a few things before settling on a square neckline with a form-fitting bodice. She looked critically at the skirt, then decided to make it slightly fuller. Appraising her reflection in the glass, she made a few minor adjustments to the length of the sleeves and the fullness of the skirt until she was satisfied. It would have to do. It suited her well enough, she thought, and it vaguely resembled the things she'd seen women wear in London. She wished she'd had time to consult Amelia; while her friend was no fashion-plate, she had to move among Muggles all the time and would likely have a better idea of what would pass muster among them for evening wear. Minerva's transformed effort wasn't a Monsieur Malkin, that was certain, but it fit well enough. She Transfigured her boots into a matching pair of shoes and went back down to join Albus. In her absence, Albus had changed his ordinary robes into a Muggle tuxedo jacket with a notched collar and striped trousers, complete with pleated shirt, black tie, and cummerbund. His greying hair was short and slicked back, and his beard and moustache had been Transfigured into a Van Dyke style. She was not accustomed to seeing him in such form-fitting attire, and a wave of desire swept through her as she regarded him. It was easy to forget how well-made he was; normally, she only saw him in his wizard's robes or naked, and neither sight was quite as arresting as he appeared to her now. "Oh, Albus," she said, "you look wonderful." "As do you, my love." He cocked his head as he looked at her. "What?" she asked. "Nothing. You look lovely. But if you would permit me a slight alteration …" "All right," she said, wondering what he was going to do. He waved his wand over her chest. She suddenly felt a lot cooler and realised he had changed the gown to sit off her shoulders and removed the sleeves. "Albus—" she started, but he simply said, "Now that looks a bit more like it." "But …" she gestured to her chest, which felt very naked indeed. "Lovely," he said, moving to her and kissing her forehead. "Believe me, Minerva, it's what all the ladies were wearing when I was in Paris last month for the meeting of the International Confederation." "It seems an awful lot of skin to be showing." "Such beautiful skin," he said, leaning down to kiss each bare shoulder. "Well, if you're sure …" "I am. You look wonderful." "Then I'd better go back up and see to some different underthings. I don't think what I have on under this works any longer." "Go ahead. We have plenty of time." Sure enough, when she unzipped the bodice of the dress, she found that the straps to her bra had disappeared, leaving the garment practically hanging off her chest. She debated simply going without but concluded that she looked decidedly underdeveloped, so she fished an old chemise out of a drawer, and after a few failed experiments, managed to Transfigure it into a sort of brassiere without straps, cursing herself all the while for not paying more attention to some of the charms her gran had once taught her. She was certain there had to be a charm for keeping one's bosom looking … perkier under one's clothes. Now that she was thirty-two, she thought, it might be time to investigate such matters. She knew she had succeeded, however, when she went back downstairs, and Albus's eyes were drawn immediately to her chest. "Better, I take it?" she said with a smirk. "Beautiful, my dear. Shall we?" She took the cloak he had already Transfigured from loden wool to blue satin, and they went into the garden to Apparate. When they re-materialised in an alleyway, they frightened a young woman and her gentleman friend half to death, and the Muggles scurried off, the woman giving little yips of fright and the man cursing as he tried to button his trousers while he ran. "Oh, dear," said Minerva. "I'm afraid we rather ruined their evening. But ours should be somewhat pleasanter," he said, and she didn't have to see his face in the dim light to know that his eyes were twinkling. They walked two blocks to a Muggle restaurant, and as he steered a surprised Minerva to the door, she said, "Isn't it a bit early for dinner?" "Yes, my dear, and I'm sorry, but curtain is at seven tonight." "Curtain?" "Yes. We're going to Covent Garden this evening, and the performance is rather long." Over dinner, Minerva and Albus discussed the problem of how to keep their marriage a secret—or relatively secret. Albus was surprised when she suggested a Muggle ceremony. She explained quietly, "Muggle marriages are valid in our world, aren't they?" "Yes, but—" "Well, then, if we marry à la Muggle we have a legal marriage that does not automatically get registered with the Ministry. If something comes up that requires proof of our marriage—if the Board of Governors finds out about our relationship, for example—we only need produce the appropriate documents." Albus thought it over and conceded that the idea was good. Many Muggle-borns had both magical and Muggle marriage ceremonies, but only one was necessary for a marriage to become legally binding in the wizarding world. "Your grandmother will still insist on a wedding, though, Minerva. I don't think she'll let you out of it that easily." "Oh, we'll do something at my father's house when we finish with the Muggle registrar," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. When dinner was finished, Albus got them a Muggle taxi, which sped them from the restaurant to the carriage entrance of the Royal Opera House at a pace Minerva found positively alarming. An automobile ride in the country was one thing; a dash through the narrow, crowded streets of London was quite another. "Götterdämmerung?" Minerva read from the bill posted outside the theatre. "Yes, have you heard it?" "No, never." "It's a bit long," said Albus," but I think you'll enjoy it." As it turned out, the performance lasted more than five and a half hours, and Minerva was riveted through each minute. In the final act, as Brünnhilde sang of joyfully greeting Siegfried as his wife in death and flung herself into the fire, Minerva heard sniffling beside her. She was astonished to see Albus dabbing at his eyes with a handkerchief, and she took his other hand and squeezed it. When the lights had come up again, Minerva turned to him, her eyes shining. "Thank you so much, Albus. That was indescribable." "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Not everyone likes Wagner, but I took a chance. Filius told me that the soprano was not to be missed. He was kind enough to arrange the tickets. The principal bassoonist is a friend, apparently. They knew one another in Vienna before the war." "That was very kind of him. And he certainly was right about the soprano." She looked at her programme. "Birgit Nilsson. She is extraordinary." After retrieving their cloaks from the coat-check and stepping out into the cold London night, they hurried around the corner to cross Russell Street and slipped into a small passage between two buildings to Apparate back to Hogsmeade. When Albus asked, "Are you ready, my dear?" Minerva said, "Not just yet." She took hold of his cloak and pulled him down for a kiss. Her hands moved across his back and down to rest on his bum, and she pulled him close up against her. Breaking the kiss, she whispered, "Do you remember doing this in the alley in Tewkesbury?" "How could I forget it?" "You were so passionate. I thought you were going to take me right there. The thought excited me." "Did it?" he murmured into her neck. "Yes. Do it now, Albus." He lifted his head in surprise. "Here?" "Yes." "My dear, I—" She kissed him again. "You want to. I can feel it." "Of course I want to, but—" "Then do it. Nobody will see us. And if they do, we can just … disappear." She found the pull to his zipper and unzipped his trousers, slipping her hand inside. "Minerva—" He reached down to still her hand, and she withdrew it. He held her wrist for a few moments, and she thought he was going to tell her to stop, but instead he backed her up a few inches until her back was pressed against the cold wall. As she gathered her skirt up, he opened her cloak and pulled down the bodice of her gown until her breasts were exposed, licking at her nipples as he fumbled for his wand. He found it, and she felt the chill of the moist night air against her centre as her knickers disappeared. She heard him cast a quick Disillusionment Charm before stowing his wand back under his jacket. He knelt in front of her, hands at her thighs, and she knew what he was going to do. She held her skirt up with one hand, and when the other moved down to weave through his hair, she was surprised to find it stiff and unpleasant to touch. She had forgotten that his hair had been shortened and slicked back, Muggle-style, and she took a moment to be thankful that wizards didn't generally bother with such foolishness. Then his tongue made her stop thinking altogether. After a minute, he stopped—how did he always know when she was on the edge?—and stood, lifting her with the aid of a whispered charm, urging her to wrap her legs around him. As he took her, she thought of that night in Tewkesbury, and of the Muggle soldier on VE Day. "Fuck me … fuck me … oh, gods … oh!" Her words seemed to spur him on, and when it was over, and he had caught his breath, she said, "Good boy. Now, do you think you can take me home and do it again?" She couldn't see his smile, but she could hear it in his voice when he said, "I expect so, if you give me a few minutes." He zipped his trousers and put his arms around her, murmuring, "Happy birthday, Minerva," against her mouth as he turned them before she even had a chance to pull the bodice of her dress back up. They Apparated to her garden, and after adjusting her dress to cover her breasts, she opened the door, and they stepped into the kitchen and moved swiftly through it to the darkened sitting room. Minerva used her wand to close the curtains, enveloping them in near-total darkness. She felt him come up behind her, his arms encircling her waist and his mouth moving across her shoulders … her neck … her jaw … He murmured a spell, and suddenly their clothes were gone, and she felt his bare skin warm against her back and his hands moving over her breasts. She tilted her head back to rest against him and covered his hands with her own as they caressed her, and they stood like that for a few moments, Minerva enjoying the solid feel of him against her. She turned in his arms and put her hands on his shoulders, burying her face in his chest, inhaling his scent—sandalwood and verbena, she thought, mixed with something that was intangibly Albus—and tasted his slightly salty skin with her tongue. She moved her hands down to play over his chest as she knelt down to press her mouth to his belly. She found the softness there endearing in contrast with the rest of his body, otherwise fit and still firmly muscled; it spoke of countless hours spent reading and writing—and probably enjoying too many sherbet lemons, she thought fondly. After a few minutes of pleasuring him with her mouth, she released him, stood, and asked, "Do you think you're ready now?" "What does it feel like, witch?" His voice was low and hoarse. "The question is, are you ready?" "You're a man of science," she said, "why don't you investigate?" He did, and found she was very ready indeed. "Fuck me again, Dumbledore," she whispered. He crushed his mouth against hers, then steered her, lurching, to the settee, urging her to bend over the arm. He took her there, whispering in her ear—filthy things she'd never heard from his mouth but that sent her into a whirlwind of renewed excitement. She wasn't sure what she herself was saying—probably nonsense—but she could hear her voice above his as they moved. An explosion of white lights danced before her eyes as she felt her knees buckle. He held her to keep her from collapsing to the floor as he strove towards his own release. When she recovered, he had finished, and she felt his lips tracing a line of kisses down the length of her spine, making her shiver. Then his hands went to her waist and he helped her stand. "Was that what you had in mind, Minerva?" he asked softly as he turned her back around to face him. She cupped his cheek with her palm. "Yes, my darling. That was exactly what I had in mind." She moved her hand up to his hair. "Perhaps you should change this back, though. As handsome as you look, I think I prefer your natural hair and beard." He grasped her hand and brought the palm to his lips. "Your wish is my command, my dear. I will need my wand, however," he said, looking around. "Where did you send our clothes?" He gave a small chuckle. "You know, I'm not quite certain. I was somewhat distracted." He kissed her lips quickly, then moved carefully around the other side of the settee to find their things, lighting a single candle on the table with a flick of his wrist, washing the room in soft yellow light that cast his shadow, long and thin, over the wood floor. Minerva was about to go into the kitchen to see if their clothes had landed there, but she was startled by a shout from Albus. She whirled around to see him facing the corner near the door, and at first she thought he had seen an intruder, or maybe a Boggart, but she was perplexed when she heard him say soothingly, "It's all right. I won't hurt you. But do come out and explain yourself." Minerva moved up next to Albus and was amazed to see a tiny, wizened elf step reluctantly out from under the small table on which she usually kept papers and other things she meant to take with her when she left each morning. "Glynnie!" she cried. "Yes, Mistress Minerva. Glynnie is very sorry to have startled Mistress Minerva's tall friend," the elf said, eyeing Albus up and down. "That's quite all right, but what are you doing here? Is my grandmother all right?" Minerva asked, anxiety squeezing her chest. "Mistress Morna is well, Mistress Minerva is not to be worrying," said Glynnie. "Master has written from America to say that Glynnie is to come and help Mistress Minerva at her new house." She held out a small roll of parchment, and Minerva recognised her father's seal. Minerva looked at Albus, who appeared as if he were trying not to laugh, which annoyed her. How could he find this funny? They had just … just … in front of Glynnie! "Albus, do you think you could find our clothes, please? Just Summon them." "Glynnie will get them, Mistress." With a snap of her long fingers, a large pile of mixed clothing materialised, hovering in front of the couple. "Thank you … Glynnie, is it?" Albus asked, the amusement still evident on his face. "Yes, sir," said the elf, looking back at Albus with a wry smile. "And Mistress Minerva's close friend would be …?" "Albus Dumbledore," he replied with a small bow. "'Tis a pleasure to meet you, sir," Glynnie said, returning the bow. "Glynnie, do you think you could excuse us while we dress?" said Minerva. Glynnie gave Minerva a look that plainly said she thought the two mages were slightly barmy, but she said, "Of course, Mistress Minerva." She Disapparated with a small pop, and Albus let go with the laugh he had clearly been trying to hold in. "Oh, Albus, it isn't funny!" Minerva said. "She must have seen us! What she must think …" "Minerva, she's a house-elf, not a child. And if I'm any judge, I'd say she's a house-elf who's been around a while. While it may have been uncomfortable for her to actually watch us, surely she isn't shocked at the idea of people making love." "You don't understand. Glynnie has known me since I was a baby. It's as if … as if your friend Bathilda Bagshot had seen us. And it isn't as if we were just in bed, we were … oh, Merlin … the things I said …" She put a hand to her forehead as if to cool it. He could see that she was really distressed. "Here," he said, sifting through the hovering pile of clothes to find her gown, "put this on. You'll feel better, and then we'll talk with your elf. I'm sure it's not as bad as all that." Minerva grimaced but took the gown, and they both dressed, Albus bothering only with his pants, trousers, and shirt, which he didn't button. After breaking the seal on her father's letter, Minerva unrolled it and read. "I can't believe it," she said. "What?" "He's giving Glynnie to me. A combination housewarming and birthday present, he says." "That's very generous." "Yes, but Glynnie has lived at our house in Caithness all her life. And besides, what would I do with a house-elf? This place is so small, and I'm rarely here." "Can she cook? You'd surely find that helpful," he said. "Provided you acquire some cooking utensils." Minerva ignored the jibe and looked at the parchment again. "Da says Glynnie isn't ready to stop serving yet, but she needs a smaller area to look after now that she's getting on." "Well, then, perhaps you should talk to her. Find out what she wants to do." "Yes," sighed Minerva. "Glynnie," she called, and the elf appeared a moment later. "Yes, Mistress?" Minerva had to think for a moment. She didn't want to offend Glynnie, so she said, "Glynnie, I'm very happy to see you, and I know I'd enjoy your company, but there really isn't very much to do here. I'm not sure you'd be happy. Besides, isn't your family in Caithness?" "As Mistress Minerva well knows," Glynnie said, "Pilcher's with Master Einar and his family, and Zadie is in Cromarty, still with her father's family. And he's been gone this ten year. So it is no more trouble for Glynnie to visit her children from here than from Master Thorfinn's house. And as for your house, Mistress Minerva, Glynnie will be happy to see to it for you. Glynnie is old and Glynnie is tired, but she is still a good house-elf and can be of good service." "Oh, I know that, Glynnie," said Minerva. "I just want to be certain that this is what you want. I hope my father consulted you before sending you here." "Mistress Morna spoke with Glynnie before Master Thorfinn's letter came. Mistress Morna is old like Glynnie. She knows how it is with the aching joints and the draughty house." "I see," said Minerva. In truth, she really did not want a house-elf, even dear Glynnie, with her in this tiny space. Especially when Albus came. But it seemed as if it was in Glynnie's best interest. Minerva's grandmother expected a great deal from the McGonagall house-elves, but she also cared deeply about their welfare. It was likely she had noticed Glynnie's discomfort and suggested to her son-in-law that the elf be sent to Minerva. Glynnie's comment about arthritis was her typically quiet way of saying she wanted the change. "All right, then," said a reluctant Minerva, "if you're sure you'd like to live here with me, I'd be pleased to have you." "Thank you, Mistress," said Glynnie with a bow. After she had organised a bed for the elf under a cupboard in the kitchen—"Nice and cosy, and no draughts," Glynnie proclaimed it—Minerva said, "Glynnie, Albus is my … close friend, as you say, and he will occasionally come to visit here. I would appreciate it if you could …" "Not to worry, Mistress Minerva. Glynnie understands. She will go away when Mistress Minerva wants to mate with Albus Dumbledore. Glynnie hopes Mistress's matings are successful. She would like to care for one last wizard baby before she dies." Minerva didn't quite know what to say to that. "Oh … um … thank you, Glynnie." As she turned to go, she stopped and said, "You will not mention anything you may have seen or heard this evening to anyone, will you? Even your friends?" "No, Mistress. Glynnie will say nothing about it to anyone." "Thank you." Minerva didn't think Glynnie was the sort of house-elf to gossip about the family she served, but she knew of some who did. Moreover, house-elves seemed to be less private than wizards and witches about sex—as a child Minerva had got an unintended education when she had run across one of the younger McGonagall elves in flagrante delicto with another elf she hadn't recognised when she had wandered into the kitchen one night looking for a glass of milk. The elf had simply said, "What does Mistress Minerva need?" without stopping his enthusiastic rogering of his equally unconcerned companion. Eight-year-old Minerva had dashed from the room and the next day had tearfully asked her father if Pilcher had been punishing his friend for some infraction. Thorfinn had flushed bright pink and told her no, it was not punishment. He added only that from that point on, Minerva should summon Glynnie if she needed anything from the kitchens at night. Later that afternoon, Minerva's gran had sat her down and told her the facts of life, simply and without equivocation, for which Minerva had been grateful and relieved, if slightly revolted at the idea. Trying to repress the memory, Minerva said, "Thank you, Glynnie," and made to go. Turning back, she added, "And welcome to our home. I hope you'll be happy here." "Thank you, Mistress Minerva. What time would you and Albus Dumbledore like breakfast?" "Later, I should think. Nine?" "Very good, Mistress." As she climbed the stairs, Minerva thought about Glynnie's remark about having a baby. It had been an uncomfortable reminder of the conversation she had been avoiding having with Albus. The only time she and Albus had ever spoken about children was during their first affair, and then only when Albus had been enumerating all the drawbacks to their relationship. He had said then that he could not give her a husband and family. Now that he had apparently changed his mind on the first point, what did that imply for the second? Minerva had known that she didn't want children with Doug or with Alastor and that she certainly didn't want them alone—but did that mean she didn't want them at all? She wasn't sure. The idea of marriage had not been in her mind until Albus had sprung it on her. And she had agreed without really thinking about it. She loved him, and if he wanted it, and if it would smooth their path in some respects, she would marry him. But the question of having children deserved more thought. And yet, she hadn't ever brought it up, and neither had he. What did that mean? When Minerva joined Albus in the small bedroom, he was already snoring, so she changed into a nightdress and slipped in beside him, but it was some time before she was able to fall asleep. ← Back to Chapter 47 On to Chapter 49→ Category:Chapters of Epithalamium